Push & Pull
by absurdvampmuse
Summary: Feyre/Rhysand. Post stealing the orb in a Court of Nightmares./"We push each others' buttons," she rephrased. "I'd say we do more than that. After today." And there it was. The line they had both been teetering around, goading each other to see who would approach first. He was at her mercy just like she was at his. It wouldn't be much longer. They both felt it./


**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the rights to series of _A Court of Thorns & Roses _or _A Court of Mist & Fury. _I am merely borrowing the characters. All I own is my own imagination and the laptop I wrote this on.**

 **A/N:** Me writing a Feyre/Rhysand story has been a long time coming. I've reread all of the series a handful of times and I needed something more to hold me over until the next installment releases. I've been reading some amazing pieces of fanfiction on here! I prefer the ones that take place before Feyre is aware of their mating bond. Hene, this one takes place before that. It is set right after all of them go to the Court of Nightmares to steal the orb and Rhysand and Feyre put on a show to distract. It's the aftermath of that pivotal moment up on the dais. I hope you'll love it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

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 **Push & Pull**

 _You love winding me up and I love shutting you down. Like we're trying to get even… Until we run out of reasons._

After emerging from the subterranean court, Rhysand swept her up into his arms almost immediately and wasted not a second in getting her up into the air and back to his townhouse they now shared. He dropped her off right at the entrance, an expressive look shared between the two of them before he flew back up to reconvene with the two Illyrians that Feyre knew were close by despite the fact that she couldn't spot either one of them. She made her way through the house and up the stairs to her room, aware that her body was still hot in all the places he had touched her while on the dais. Her blood coursed through her more quickly as she shed her dress, her hands lingering on her thighs as she imagined for a second that it were his hands instead that were kneading into her skin, his fingertips still slick with her own scent. The water was hot and offered her no reprieve from her own treacherous mind. She forced herself to focus on her breathing, her hands clinging to the tub's edges as she dunked herself under water.

The water turned cold quickly; she had trouble containing herself and her powers, although the ice doused some of her frenzy. She looked at herself in the mirror: her hair wild from air drying, her face fresh sans make-up and her eyes bright and clear. Finally, Feyre could look at herself without cringing away from her reflection. The dark lines and smudges had disappeared as well as the hollowness and paleness that had marked her for too long. She changed into a pair of loose, pastel tinted sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt that slipped down her shoulders and bared them in the way she, _and he_ , liked. It wasn't constrictive, nor was there anyone here who would care that she had chosen this for her sleep attire. It was a simple freedom, but one that made her feel lighter.

Not ready for bed after such an adrenaline-filled day, she left her room and descended the stairs into the large but cozy sitting room. Morrigan was waiting for her on the large sofa that took up at least half of the space, still in her dress but looking comfortable nonetheless with her hair undone and feet bare. She had a glass of wine in her hand and with a flick of her other hand, another glass and a bottle appeared on the table in front of her.

"Feyre, darling," she said as a way of greeting, slightly mocking Rhys as she did so. "Come and join me, will you. It's been a long day. Wine's the least we deserve." She filled the other glass with alcohol and handed it to Feyre as she dropped herself down next to the golden-haired beauty. She clinked her glass against Mor's before taking a sip.

"We've had quite a day, haven't we," Morrigan remarked, one hand running through her hair in a faux aimless manner. "Although you did seem to enjoy your time on the throne, or should I say my cousin's lap." She wiggled her eyebrows at Feyre over the rim of her glass.

Feyre's complexion temporarily turned a shade of crimson and she averted her eyes. "It's complicated," were the words she decided to settle on.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed for a split second before she offered up an almost cheshire grin. "Fair enough. I'll leave it be, for now."

Feyre glanced over at Morrigan before having gathered the nerve to ask, "How do you stand being down there? I mean, after everything that they did to you."

"My cousin can't seem to keep his mouth shut." Mor sipped from her wine as she considered Feyre's question.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want," Feyre quickly told her. "You were just so strong, are strong," she corrected. "I want to be more like that." She had to look away, unable not to feel some shame for her confession: _her weakness_.

"Oh, Feyre, I know it might not feel like it or that you can't see it, but you are strong. In fact, I want to be you when I grow up," Mor lightheartedly commented. "I could ask you the same sort of question. How do you keep going after everything you've been through." Mor shrugged. "We just do because we choose to." Her eyes glazed over as a memory snagged her attention.

Feyre felt the wave of sadness that passed over the girl across from her and her heart ached for her. She touched her fingers to Mor's arm, offering her something else to focus on as she spoke, "And it must help that those three men love you fiercely and would protect you no matter what."

The dullness evaporated from Mor's eyes and left room for a smile. "Yeah, I know. Despite me making it hard for them at times. Especially-"

"Azriel," Feyre finished. Now it was Mor who felt uncomfortable with the conversation, although she didn't outright deny the claim. So Feyre considered it safe to continue. "I can see how you two would fit together. Why you're drawn to each other. You're the flame shedding light on his shadows. A game of dark and light." She could see the painting in her head: Azriel the moth with dark, intricate wings on the edge of the rays of light that would burst from Mor in the center of the image.

Mor gently bumped her shoulder against Feyre's. "Maybe you could show me sometime, paint it?"

Feyre bit her lip before shaking her head. "No. I'm not ready… yet. It still hurts."

"Go on," Mor urged, sitting in a patient silence as she waited.

Feyre pressed her lips to her glass as if to drink, but didn't. "I used to love painting. And Tamlin gave me access to as much paint and as many brushes as I wanted. More than I needed. But when he started keeping me confined more and more, it was all I could do. Paint all the things I wasn't allowed to do, all the places I couldn't see." She tilted her head to rest it against Mor's shoulder as she let out a breath she had been holding in. "He loves me so intensely and selfishly that he smothered me with it. It was suffocating and I told him, begged him… But the house only started getting smaller and smaller. I did everything for him, gave him all I had. I don't think wanting to be able to make my own choices should lead to him hurting me so much."

"No, it shouldn't," Mor immediately agreed. "You're strong, Feyre. You've endured. That's why I didn't hesitate to come and get you when Rhys asked."

Feyre took a drink of her wine. "I hated him Under the Mountain. He was the way he was today all the time. Cruel, cunning, cold."

"He has to be like that sometimes," Mor said gently as she rested her own head on top of Feyre's. "As do I. But they're facades."

"I know that. Now. And he kept me alive. Distracted me enough to focus on that and not on…" She cleared her throat and downed some more of the wine, not wanting to get too stuck on how low she had truly felt not that long ago. "He has done it twice now. When I came here, I didn't know I would be able to snap out of it. Move on."

Mor blindly reached for Feyre's hand and squeezed. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad you're here too."

Mor let go only to reach for the bottle and refill both of their glasses. "And they're loyal to you too, you know. Az, Cassian, Rhys. I think the latter would follow you to the ends of the earth if you would only say the words. In fact, you wouldn't even have to say them."

"It… this place, feels more right than the Spring Court did. I thought it would be different."

"You're safe here," Mor reassured her. "We're both safe."

They clinked their glasses and both took a big gulp. Yet before they each could retreat back into their thoughts, three figures seemed to materialize right out of the shadows, Azriel being the last one to enter as if he was reluctant to leave the darkness completely behind him. Yet he had to leave it to be closer to Morrigan. It was dedication at its rawest: _leaving behind one's safety net to be one step closer to what one coveted the most._

Azriel's eyes touched briefly on the scene they had walked in on, although his gaze held onto Morrigan more intently. Feyre couldn't help but observe the girl's reaction as Morrigan lowered her long lashes while pressing her lips almost seductively against her wineglass, putting on a display that would only draw his eyes nearer.

Feyre hid her smile from the others by swallowing another mouthful of wine. She remembered the feeling of a love that was yet to begin and wondered if she was in the midst of something herself as her eyes lifted to the dark prince who remained standing in the doorway. Rhysand had his hands in his pockets as he leaned lightly against the door's frame whilst taking survey of the room. A lilt of his head was all that gave him away before his violet eyes brushed against hers, asking for permission almost, the way he tended to do when he wanted access to her train of thought. He took notice of her casual attire - the light pink shorts that left her thighs so delightfully bare and the black t-shirt that he recognized as being his own - and allowed his eyes to roam freely, unable to hold a genuine smirk from breaking through at how at ease she was in his home.

"What are you ladies talking about?" Cassian inquired while dropping into one of the armchairs that flanked the sofa.

Mor flicked her fingers at him. "Don't act as if you weren't listening from the second you came in." She downed the rest of her glass, her fingers grasping the stem in an alluring manner that was meant to make Azriel squirm.

Feyre turned her eyes away, finding the moment too private and focused on Cassian instead. "Just a heart to heart."

"I see…" He rested one leg across the other. "Did I happen to be part of this heart to heart?" He cracked a smile, creating temporary dimples in the usual flawless lines of his face.

Mor rolled her eyes. "Not everything is about you."

"I find that hard to believe."

Feyre smiled at his response and Mor shook her head, pointing a finger at her. "Don't encourage him. It's charming now, but wait until you've been here for a while." She put down her glass just as Cassian reached for the bottle. She slipped her feet back into her heels, glancing over at Azriel. "Well, I might as well get some beauty sleep, even though I don't need it." She narrowed her eyes at Cassian and he held up his hand, wiggling his fingers briefly at her as a goodbye. "Az, would you mind escorting me back?"

Azriel simply gave a bow of his head, hands behind his back as he waited, tracking each and every move Morrigan made.

"Feyre, we need to do this more often. You've been a welcome breath of fresh air and an excellent conversation partner."

"Ditto."

Something passed through Mor's eyes, a soft emotion and she responded by pressing her lips to the top of Feyre's head that was still resting against her shoulder.

"Let me know how you're exploration of the shadows goes," Feyre whispered with a playful twinkle in her eyes.

"Ditto." Mor winked at her and got up, giving them all a final wave before making her way over to Azriel and linking her arm with his.

They all watched the two of them leave, Feyre sinking deeper into the cushions while Cassian took a drink straight from the wine bottle. At one point he offered some to Rhys, but he only shook his head.

"And then there were three." Cassian slammed the now empty bottle down on the table. "How about we go out on the town!"

Feyre looked to Rhys whose face gave away no indication of what his intentions were. She tried brushing against the thin veil between their minds, but hesitated passing through after feeling the heavy weight of her own emotions. She wasn't sure she could handle his as well.

"Oh, come on," Cassian said with a roll of his eyes, one palm turned upwards. "I'm merely referencing a couple of drinks, an uninhibited dance or two, not participating in a threesome." His eyes gleamed buoyantly as they landed on Feyre. "I would never share you."

Feyre coughed up some of her wine mid gulp at his brass words, the color in her cheeks darkening once more. Still, she couldn't stop a startled laugh from escaping her lips.

Cassian shook his head, pushing himself up and out of the chair. "Nah, Rhysand would snip off my crown jewels before having my head. Plus, the entire court saw the show you two put on."

"Cassian," Rhys provided his General Commander with a warning.

"And I'm not my sister," Feyre threw out her calculated words at the Illyrian towering over her.

Cassian looked at her, all amusement fading from his features for a few seconds as he took in her implication.

Rhysand moved closer to the female on the couch instinctively, even though he recognized the play of words between his friend and Feyre. Plus, if anyone could take it, it was Cassian. A good-natured smirk returned to tug at his features as he nodded at both Feyre and Rhysand. "Well, I suppose there's no use in me pretending going out and getting laid then. Off to bed it is. With only my thoughts to keep me warm." He pocketed his hands and turned his back to Feyre and Rhysand. "And my hand, that is."

Feyre's mouth dropped at the bold and too honest reply, eliciting a chuckle from Rhysand as he sat down beside her, his sudden added weight causing her to lean against him lightly. The warmth spread through her body almost instantly and for a second she was back in his lap, her body flushed all over with anticipation.

A minor tremor moved through her fingers, Rhys not commenting on it but taking notice as he took the almost empty glass from her hands. "If you want me to remind him that there are certain boundaries, I will," he told her before finishing off the liquid left in the glass, refilling it immediately after with a wave of his hand.

Feyre shook her head. "I'm used to my mouth getting me in trouble." She blurted it out without thinking, not missing the mischievous glint that appeared in his eyes. She shrugged up her shoulders in a manner that was too casual for the situation as she watched Rhys drink from her glass. "Besides, if I can hold my own against you…" She maneuvered her legs so her feet were tucked beneath herself, inching even closer to the man next to her in the process. "It's not like you don't push and pull at me even harder."

"Playing a word game, are we?"

"No, just stating facts. We push each others' buttons," she rephrased.

"I'd say we do more than that. After today. Wouldn't you?" And there it was. The line they had both been teetering around, goading each other to see who would approach first.

Feyre bit down onto her lip, glancing down at her hands as they clasped together against her stomach as if to hinder the fluttering feeling from spreading. She could hide it if she wanted to, change the subject, pretend she didn't grasp the complete depth of his words. Even though the change in her heartbeat - the slight acceleration and then the beat or two it skipped - gave her away despite everything. And just like that she was back on the dais with his fingers so close to where it ached the most.

"I feel like I should apologize for-"

A husky breath left him as he finished the sentence for her, "For being wet?" His eyes burned against her skin and the tension grew so thick it became almost tangible between them. Still, he provided her with an out, an excuse, a life raft. "It's a natural reaction of your body to-"

"You," Feyre breathed out the word.

She took the glass from him and set her lips where his had been, swallowing the wine just to be preoccupied with something, have something to do with her hands.

She saw the deep breath Rhysand took and then released slowly, despite the fact that his body remained taut as he spoke. "It's a misplaced apology. One you feel like you need to say out loud for Tamlin's sake, but-"

"You're angry," Feyre stopped him from finishing.

Rhysand held out both hands, palms upwards before folding his fingers together instead, knuckles white with tension. "Feyre, every time you move towards me, even if it's just one step, I still see you hesitate. Pondering whether you should backtrack after all." His tone was calm enough, yet it was forced. She could tell by the way his jaw tightened with each word and the eye contact he now avoided with her.

Feyre blew out a shaky breath. "I did truly love him, Rhysand. I… I died for him." Tears unwillingly sprang to her eyes and he kept his lips pressed together, recognizing that she wasn't done yet. "It's so hard. To think you have found the one, your one and then to discover that he wants me all to himself, so much so that he would lock me up and stifle who I am in the process. The same person who spared me, looked after my family, made love to me…"

The bitterness came to his mouth at once and he made to get up, needing to not feel her pressed against him when she was telling him these things. But Feyre caught his intent and grabbed a hold of his shirt with one hand while tightening her grip on the wine glass with the other. "And you are the person who I hated and feared Under the Mountain, who hurt me only to keep me fighting. Who saw how close I was to… Twice. Who managed to pull me out, heard my plea when everything came crashing down on me, gave me a home. Someone who has been waiting for me to let him know when I'm okay. When I'm ready. Don't think I don't see all of that. Or that I don't…"

The shattering of her glass stopped her, a culmination of her emotions getting the better of her and tugging at her powers, like a wind roaring through an empty room. The pieces fell to the floor and the gasp at the inability of being able to retain a hold of her control and giving herself away so completely, reverberated through the deepest parts of Rhysand's body.

The evidence was gone with a single wave of his hand. "Easy, Feyre. You're going to burn yourself from the inside out," he chided her, although the humor was wholly absent from his demeanor. The cap he had on his own powers was an unreliable one as darkness wafted from his fingertips in gauzy streaks.

Feyre pulled her fingers inwards, her nails digging into the palm of her hand as she shifted her position so she was facing the man right next to her. "Obviously I want you. My body gave me away today." She searched his eyes as she went on, _wondering if the hunger in them mirrored her own._ "The push and pull between us, it's been getting… And sometimes the things you say to taunt me, tease me…" She took a deep breath, calming her emotions some because she felt her control slipping through her fingers once more. "I can't indicate a time. But I'm getting better, feeling more like myself. Because of Mor, Azriel, Cassian, Amren. _Because of you_." Frustrated with herself for struggling with the words, her grip tightened on Rhyand's shirt as she began balling up the fabric between her fingers. She needed it to steady herself. "I'm wearing your shirt. I wouldn't do that if I still thought of him that way, Rhys."

Rhysand turned his upper body so he could look at her, his gaze dropping down to the shirt she had on as if it was the first time he was really seeing it. The fingers of one hand tentatively reached for the collar, fingering the fabric as he let the weight of her words come down on him. He held her eyes with his as his hand dropped, knuckles feather light against her breasts and then her ribs as if tracing her. Upon reaching the hem of the shirt, he used both hands to gather the fabric between them, knuckles now against her bare stomach.

A shudder ran through him as he almost felt compelled to get even closer to her, using his hold on her shirt to tug her towards him. He dropped his head down to the hollow between her neck and her bare shoulder, realizing that he held all the power: one pull from him and the shirt would slip off her arm completely. He inhaled her, getting lost in her scent although he could no longer tell where hers ended and his began. A guttural exhale skimmed her skin as Rhysand spoke against it, "And now my body is betraying me." He placed a soft kiss against her collarbone before trailing his lips upwards to the shell of her ear.

He bit down on the tender skin and felt her body react, almost jumping forwards as she pressed her breasts against his chest. Her hands were now both on his shirt, pushing or pulling. She didn't know. Her breath came out in short and uneven gasps.

"Tell me to stop, Feyre. Tell me to stop," Rhysand repeated his plea.

She opened her mouth but no sound escaped but her ragged breaths as they joined his. She felt his chest heave and his fingers twitch against her. _He was at her mercy just like she was at his._

One of her hands slid down his chest, dangerously close to where one stroke of her fingers would undo any determination Rhys still had. But instead she wrapped her arm around his waist, fingers digging into his back while the ones of her other hand slid into his midnight locks. "I can't," she confessed to him.

Feyre made a noise that he felt deep down in his bones. That and the memory of her slickness on his fingers would be enough to hold him over until he would be able to have the real thing. She had him on her mind as well, his lips against her skin and the desperation in his voice and actions when he pulled away from her. The fact that he did so to give her more time only made her want him even more. Feyre wanted to push against him with her body as he made her squirm and pull at his shirt until it ripped an came right off.

 _It wouldn't be much longer_. They both felt it, tasted it in the air.

Rhys adjusted his pants and Feyre swallowed, needing to close her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them again, Rhys had produced two new glasses of wine. She took one, both of them sitting and drinking in a brittle silence.

But before Rhys could ponder whether he had crossed the line and if there would be consequences this time, Feyre dropped her head against his shoulder.

They sat there long enough for their heart rates to no longer thunder through them, yet both of their fingers itched with a need that would have to wait until they were each back behind the closed doors of their respective rooms. Even though both knew that the images and desire would most likely seep through their bond and that it would only hold them over for a little while longer. Until not having the real thing would drive them insane, crawling on hands and knees towards the wall they both sometimes forgot to put up. He would be on his knees and she would beg for it. Finally colliding: Rhysand the comforting blanket of dark while she would be the stars that dazzled down on them.

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 **Please Review?** Please be so kind and leave behind any thoughts you have on this piece? Also, if you've come across an amazing Feyre/Rhysand story, please let me know as well. :)


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